


The First Law of Love and War

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drama, F/M, Gen, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roderich Edelstein has never really had much interest in dating. He was happy enough just writing and playing music, and never had time for much else. Then he went to college. Suddenly he's stepped into an entirely new world, and isn't really sure what to do about it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, written for a prompt at the meme. Anon wanted an AU with poor Roderich being confused about his sexuality and attracted to both Gilbert and Elizaveta. I added the others just because it's fun. ^-^ I hope you enjoy, this looks like it's shaping up to be a long one.

Roderich had always loved music best of all.

His mother played the piano, and even before he could walk, Roderich would lie in his cradle and listen. She learned very quickly that while she was playing, he never cried. As soon as he was able to sit up on his own, she would put him on her lap and let him watch while she played. When he got a little bigger and more coordinated, he would place his hands over hers. He knew how to play the piano almost before he was big enough to reach the keys on his own.

When he was five, in between learning his letters in kindergarten, his father taught him notes and scales and how they looked on paper. Roderich could write EGBDF in 3/4 time before he could write his name. He wrote his first song just after his sixth birthday, and was well at work on an opera by his tenth.

At seven, his father decided he was strong enough to hold a violin without faltering, and paid for lessons. At nine he took up the flute as well. At twelve he was asked to play the piano to accompany a very famous orchestra when they performed at the local opera house.

Everyone who heard him play or read his compositions raved about his talent, his genius. Comparisons were made to Mozart, to Beethoven. All of it went over Roderich's head. His one and only love was music. He heard it in his head, let it flow out through his fingers, whether he was playing or composing either one.

When he was fourteen, his parents took him away on a three week vacation around Europe. He spent most of the vacation scribbling shards of music on spare napkins, the sights and sounds of Vienna and Rome sending the music spiraling ever higher in his head. When he got home he locked himself in the music room with his piano, and in three days composed an aria that would have made Puccini tremble in jealousy.

His parents worried, a little, that he didn't have many friends, that he didn't socialize much. All through his teen years, most of his time was spent alone, holed up with his music. He didn't seem to mind though. And if he ever got lonely or stuck in his music, he would call his cousins. They were always more than happy to drag him outside into the sunshine, or down to the local Italian restaurant for some pasta. If anyone expressed concern over his loner nature, Roderich would usually just laugh and say that Feli and Romano were the only friends he needed.

When he was sixteen, his high school councilor told him that if he worked just a bit harder, he'd be able to graduate early. Music was his love, but Roderich was well advanced in all other areas of study as well. Roderich himself was delighted with the idea. Several universities had already offered him various musical scholarships, and he was eager to take the next step forward and continue his education.

He assumed college would be much like high school, except that he'd be sharing a room with someone, and he'd have to walk to another building if he wanted a proper grand piano. He'd still be able to spend his spare time composing, and his other classes would be just as easy as they'd always been.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

When he was seventeen, Roderich packed up his bags, his classical CDs and his violin and left for the university he'd chosen.

He had no idea how greatly his life was going to change.


	2. In Which Francis is Naked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am an American, and I'm in an American university. I won't say this story takes place in America, because I'm really not sure _where_ it takes place. Just be aware the university is going to seem very American, because that's what I have experience with.
> 
> The song Francis is singing at the beginning is a really addicting French pop song called [L'orange](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lr4cS4bBx_4&feature=related). Thanks to Tuul for linking me to it. |Da

The first thing Roderich noticed was that his new roommate had interesting taste in music.

"J'ai pas volé pas volé pas volé l'orange du marchand..."

Roderich tried to peer over the top of the box he was carrying. From what he could see, it looked like several suitcases had exploded in the room already. Clothes were strewn about over every available surface, books piled on one of the desks and heaped on the floor beside it. Roderich's new roommate was kneeling on one of the two beds, hanging a poster on the wall of some blond movie star. All Roderich could see of him at the moment was his back and longish blond hair, which was tied back into a ponytail.

"Uh," Roderich cleared his throat a bit. "Hello?"

His roommate stopped singing and half turned to look over his shoulder, revealing blue eyes and a scruffy goatee. "Oh, you're my new roommate?"

Roderich nodded, setting the box he was carrying down on the nearest dresser and offering his hand. "Yes. I'm Roderich Edelstein. Nice to meet you."

"Francis Bonnefoy," he smiled, taking Roderich's hand. "Sorry about the mess, my parents kicked me out at the door and didn't stay to help me unpack. They had to catch a plane to Paris."

"You're French?" Roderich blinked. Francis had a slight accent, but not much of one.

"Second generation," Francis smiled. "Both sets of grandparents still live in France, so my parents like to visit whenever they can."

"I visited Paris on vacation once, it was nice."

Francis chuckled, turning to start putting some of his clothes away. "What're you majoring in?"

"Music composition," Roderich's answer was automatic. "And you?"

"French, actually, with a minor in art," Francis admitted. "My spoken French is crap and I'm tired of my grandmother throwing things at me for it."

Roderich was about to comment when his parents arrived with the next load of boxes and introductions had to be made.

Later that night, once his parents had (reluctantly) left and the unpacking was mostly finished, Francis announced he was going to take a shower. Their room had a small bathroom with a toilet and sink, but if they wanted to shower they had to go down to the big bathroom that served the whole floor. Roderich waved him away, barely looking up from the lullaby he was composing to try and distract himself from the fact that he was out on his own for the first time.

Francis was gone for about forty minutes before he breezed back in with a content sigh. "Not bad at all, if housekeeping manages to keep them clean."

Roderich looked up just in time to see Francis drop the towel he'd had wrapped around his hips. Roderich squawked and turned bright red as Francis looked over at him in bemusement. "H-hey! What're you doing?!"

Francis gave him a quizzical look, apparently totally unconcerned with being completely naked in front of someone else. "You're male, aren't you? It's not anything you haven't seen before."

"But not _yours_!" Roderich put his head in his hands, totally mortified. "Please, just put some pants on!"

Francis couldn't help but laugh a little, clapping the younger boy on the shoulder briefly. This was going to be a fun year.


	3. In Which Gilbert Protests

Roderich was awakened the next morning by Francis's alarm clock going off and his roommate stumbling around swearing about the evils of early morning classes. Roderich didn't have classes until eleven, so he rolled over, put a pillow over his head and managed to go back to sleep once Francis left.

His own alarm went off a couple hours later, and Roderich finally managed to haul himself out of bed. It took him a minute to remember where he'd put his glasses, and another minute squinting before he finally discovered them hidden on his desk under Francis's flung pajama pants.

Roderich sighed, wondering if he'd really be able to survive this. He took care picking out his clothes, not sure what one was supposed to wear to college classes, and a little annoyed with himself for being so unsure. True, it wasn't as though he followed any kind of pop culture religiously (except Lady Gaga, but that was _entirely_ about the music and he would _deny_ it if anyone asked), but he should still know whether he was supposed to wear jeans or a suit. He finally settled for the sort of outfit he'd worn to high school; neat khaki pants and a crisp pale blue polo shirt, since it was still pretty warm in September.

He double checked his schedule, made sure he had everything in his backpack, then headed to his first class. He was early, so he took a seat near the front and pulled his compositions book out of his bag, settling in to try and rework the troublesome bridge to a song he'd been working on. He hardly noticed as the other students began to filter into the class in pairs and small groups, talking and laughing amongst themselves.

Roderich only looked up when the professor arrived to begin class. This was one of his general education classes, one of the ones he had to take to graduate and had nothing to do with his major except to annoy him. This particular class happened to be a historical philosophy class, and it was clear that no one in the room, including possibly the professor, cared. Roderich considered just going back to his composition as the professor began to pass out the syllabus for the semester.

"As you can see, we'll be doing a major unit on World War II and the psychology and philosophy behind the actions of various groups, both Axis and Allied."

It sounded interesting enough, Roderich thought. Suddenly, the professor was interrupted by a loud voice from the back of the room.

"Hey! Prof, I've read your book and it's all wrong!"

The professor blinked slowly, looking bewildered. "...You've read the textbook already?"

"Yeah, and I don't like it! Your views on what led to Hitler invading Poland are completely wrong!"

By now, most of the class including Roderich had turned in their seats to stare at the man in the back of the room. He looked a few years older than Roderich, with pale skin and paler hair. Roderich had never seen hair quite that shade of ashy white before, and wondered if he might be albino or just thought he looked cooler with bleached hair. He was scowling a bit at the professor, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans, several earrings and bracelets and some kind of weird black plus sign as a necklace.

"And you are...?" the professor glanced down at his class list.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," Gilbert announced. "My grandfather was a Prussian officer during World War II. Not that I agree with the Nazis," he clarified. "Hitler was a bastard. But your book's got the Nazi philosophy all wrong."

"And you've studied this?"

"Actually, yeah," Gilbert smirked, looking insufferably cocky. "Wrote a huge paper on it in high school. It's family history?"

"What makes you think you know what was in a Nazi's mind better than the professor?" someone asked, and with surprise Roderich realized it was him. Gilbert blinked, shifting his attention to the musician. "It's philosophy," Roderich added, feeling his cheeks turn pink at all the attention. "Everyone's entitled to their own opinion."

The professor seemed to have regained his equilibrium and nodded briskly. "Quite right. You're allowed to speak as much as you like, Mr. Beilschmidt, though I'd prefer it to be kept to designated discussion times. Now, if you'd look back at the syllabus..."

With a few grumbles the class settled back into silence, leaving Gilbert staring thoughtfully at the back of Roderich's head.


	4. In Which the Trio Forms

By the time class was over, Gilbert was pretty sure that the stuffy boy at the front of the room was a freshmen. For one thing, he was dressed way too formally to have been in college for long. Gilbert tended to wear jeans, but then again he had impeccable fashion sense. He had friends who routinely went to class in sweatpants and hoodies. Khakis and a polo was just ridiculous, the kid seriously needed to lighten up.

Besides that, he was speaking up way too often, answering the professor's every question eagerly. Way, way too eagerly. It reminded Gilbert of one of his brother's puppies.

One that it was hilarious to tease.

When class dismissed, Gilbert hurried to grab his things and catch up with Roderich. "Yo, wait up!"

Roderich stopped from sheer surprise, turning to look over his shoulder. "...What do you want?"

Gilbert grinned, slinging an arm around Roderich's shoulders and cackling when he felt the boy tense. "You look like you could use a friend, is all. You should make friends with upperclassmen, you know, we can get you _all sorts_ of awesome advantages."

Roderich scowled, trying to shrug Gilbert's arm off his shoulders. "Which I suppose means you."

"Of course! Now what did the prof call you...? Roddy, was it?"

Roderich bristled, eyes narrowing in fury. "How _dare_ you act so familiar with me!" He finally managed to struggle out from under Gilbert's arm and storm off, leaving Gilbert once again staring at his back.

Gilbert had never lost his wicked grin. He chuckled, red eyes gleaming. He hadn't had this much fun since he left home.

~*~

Roderich was still fuming as he stormed into the campus's cafe/coffee shop. He needed to grab lunch in the short time between now and his next class. The _nerve_ of that Gilbert, being so familiar with someone he didn't even know! Granted, Roderich's cousins were just as touchy-feely (especially Feliciano), but at least they were related!

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice he'd reached the front of the line until the cashier leaned over the counter and waved her hand in front of his face. "Hello? Can I take your order?"

He blinked, refocusing on her. "Oh, sorry."

"Are you alright?" She flicked the end of her brown ponytail back over her shoulder, brow furrowing a bit in concern.

"Uh, yeah, just lost in thought. Thanks though," he felt his cheeks turning pink for the second time that morning and silently cursed himself.

She smiled brightly at him, making him blush a little harder. "No problem. What can I get you?"

"Hm..." he peered up at the menu thoughtfully. "Just a chicken club salad, I think. And water to drink."

"Sure," she rang it up and waited while he dug out his wallet. "You work on campus?"

He blinked, looking up at her again. "What?"

She shook her head. "Ah, nevermind, you just looked like you're dressed really nicely. I thought maybe it was for a dress code." She gestured at her own cafe-issued polo and apron.

"Oh, no..." he hesitated, glancing down at himself. "You think I'm too dressed up?"

"No, it's refreshing!" She really had a nice smile, Roderich decided, and she looked around his age. "I see tons of students every day that slouch along and don't care what they look like. It's nice to see a change."

"Are you a student here?" he asked.

She nodded, beaming at him. "Yes, I just work here between classes to make a little extra cash. I'm Elizaveta," she added. "But everyone calls me Eliza."

"Eliza..." What a pretty name. "My name's Roderich."

She smiled, cheeks dimpling a little as she handed him his salad. "It's nice to meet you, Roderich. See you around?" She tilted her head, indicating the line of customers that had formed behind Roderich. He hurriedly stepped aside, realizing that this was probably not the best time to stand around and flirt, if that was actually what they had been doing.

"Yeah," he nodded, finding himself smiling back at her. "Maybe I'll see you outside work."

"I'd like that."

Roderich decided as he walked away that he liked Elizaveta's smile very much.

~*~

Gilbert whistled cheerfully as he pulled his keys out to unlock his door, but paused as he heard a voice that didn't belong to his roommate. He pushed the door open, one eyebrow already raised. "Damnit, Toni, if it's another one of your conquests-"

He stopped again, both eyebrows going up at the pretty blond lounging on _Gilbert's_ bed. Definitely a guy, if the scruffy beard was anything to go by, but damn! "-You are _way_ too pretty to be dating Antonio, I hope you know."

Gilbert's roommate flipped him off from his own bed, but the blond laughed and sat up, tossing his head to get the hair out of his eyes.

"My name is Francis," he offered his hand, and Gilbert dropped his bag beside the bed to take it. "Antonio and I are apparently in rival math classes this semester, and we hit it off when we met in the halls."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow again as he sat down on the bed beside Francis and started unlacing his boots. "_Rival_ math classes?"

"The professors don't like each other much," Antonio supplied. "They seem to fight like cats and dogs. Have for years, if some of the older students can be believed."

"Literally like cats and dogs, if one takes Professor Heracles's pets into consideration," Francis chuckled.

"Anyway, this is the guy I was telling you about, my roommate Gilbert," Antonio waved a hand at the albino. Francis smiled and offered his hand again, though rather than just taking it, Gilbert yanked the blond close and kissed him square on the lips. Antonio just rolled his eyes at the 'Test of Awesomeness' (as Gilbert called it), waiting for the flailing to start. Then sat up as Francis wrapped his hands in the front of Gilbert's shirt and began kissing him back enthusiastically. "Hey now! You guys only just met and besides, we're out of condoms!"

They broke the kiss to laugh, both flushed and breathless, and Antonio kicked off his shoes so he could join them.

Life was good indeed.


	5. In Which Roderich Is Confused By A Crossdresser

The next few weeks were a blur as Roderich began to settle into the routine of classes. Somewhat to his relief, he and Francis actually spent very little time in their room together. Francis seemed to return only long enough to switch books and grab a fresh change of clothes every day or so. Roderich decided he didn't particularly want to know where he was spending his nights, and Francis never offered to tell.

One day, about three weeks into the semester, Roderich was at his desk struggling his way though his calculus homework when there was a knock on the door. He got up with a sigh, opening the door to reveal a boy about his own age with curly brown hair and warm brown eyes. "Hey," he lifted a hand in greeting, smiling at Roderich. "Is Francis here?"

"Ah, no," Roderich smiled apologetically. "I haven't seen him since last night."

"Damn," the other rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "He forgot one of his books in my room, and I don't have time to track him down, I've got class in fifteen minutes."

"He's probably over at the art building," Roderich offered. "I think he spends a lot of his free time working over there. I can take it to him if you want."

The stranger's eyes lit up. "You wouldn't mind?"

Roderich shook his head. "I don't have anything else to do right now." He spared a baleful thought for his homework as the other boy opened up his shoulder bag and pulled out what Roderich recognized as one of Francis's French textbooks.

"Thanks a ton," the other boy smiled again, handing over the book and clapping Roderich on the shoulder, making him twitch at the contact. "Francis said you were a good guy, looks like he was right!"

"Um, thanks," _I think,_ he added mentally, a little off balance from this boy's forward manner. It reminded him a little of the twins, actually. Lovino's 'in your face' attitude combined with Feli's intimate affection.

"I better get going," he said, drawing Roderich's attention to him again. "Tell Frannie I said hi!"

...Frannie? "Oh wait, what's your name?" He couldn't very well tell Francis who had returned his book without knowing, could he?

"Oh right!" Another wide grin. "I'm Antonio Carriedo, nice to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you too," Roderich glanced at the clock. "Aren't you going to be late?"

"Oh yeah!" Antonio grinned and waved before sprinting off down the hall, leaving Roderich in the dust.

He shook his head, stepping back into the room to turn off his desk light and grab a bag to put the book in. What sort of friends was Francis making, anyway?

He'd passed the art building a few times between classes, so at least he knew where it was, even though he'd never been in it. He went inside and started looking around for Francis, quickly becoming lost in the maze of hallways and workshops. He turned a corner and paused as he heard a sort of ringing sound coming from further down the hall. He brightened and started that way, figuring that even if it wasn't Francis he could at least ask if anyone had seen him.

The door to the studio where the noise was coming from was closed, and Roderich peered through the window in the door. He froze with his hand on the doorknob, eyes widening a bit.

The studio was mostly one large open area, the floor plain cement and the walls covered with racks of tools. Several large objects draped in sheets lined the edges of the room. One was in the center, and uncovered to reveal that it was a rather large stone statue of... something. It was hard to tell, since it was only half finished. The ringing sound was coming from the fact that the artist was using a hammer and chisel to shape the piece. An artist with long brown hair tied back under a bandanna, who looked familiar. When she circled the piece to get a better angle to work from, Roderich realized that it was Elizaveta, the girl from the cafe.

He pressed a little closer to the door without realizing it, Francis's book forgotten as he watched her work. She had a very cute, determined look on her face as she bent over the piece, trying to shape a part that was hard to reach. She circled it again, eying it from all sides, then bent over again. Roderich's cheeks flamed bright red as he was suddenly presented with a _very_ nice view of her ass.

"Like, _hello_."

Roderich bit back a rather unmanly squawk, whirling around to put his back to the door as someone spoke up from about a foot behind him. He hadn't even heard footsteps! He tried to will the blush from his cheeks and his heart back into a normal rhythm.

The girl who'd startled him put her hands on her hips, staring at him cooly and clearly unimpressed. She was a lot shorter than Roderich, with short blond hair and an even shorter miniskirt worn with criminally tall boots. "Like, that's Eliza's workroom. What do you want?"

Before Roderich could think up a suitable answer, he was sent flailing backward again as the door he was leaning against gave way. He ended up on the floor, blinking up at Elizaveta.

"Oh!" She blinked in surprise, looking down at Roderich, then over him at the other girl. "I didn't know you two knew each other!" She smiled brightly, sending Roderich's cheeks flaming again as he tried to scramble back to his feet as coolly as he could.

"We don't," the other girl crossed her arms, leaning back against the opposite wall. "Like, I totally caught him spying on you."

"I wasn't!" Roderich protested. "I was looking for my roommate, actually."

"Uh huh, because he's totally in there with Eliza," she flipped her hair, stepping past Roderich to take Elizaveta's arm. "Come on, I totally promised Liet I'd drag you away from this nasty workroom long enough for dinner."

She laughed, slipping out of her friend's grip. "Okay, just let me put my tools away, Feliks. I do share this workspace, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Feliks turned away and raised an eyebrow at Roderich. "Like, do I have something in my hair?"

Roderich shook himself and swallowed, realizing he'd been staring. "Uh. _Feliks_?" he finally blurted out.

Her (?) cheeks went pink, and she scowled at Roderich, putting her hands on her hips. "Now _look_, just because I happen to have a penis-"

"Feliks!" Elizaveta appeared in the doorway again, putting her hand on Feliks's arm. "He didn't know." She smiled and Roderich apologetically. "Let's go. What's Toris making for dinner?"

Feliks let herself be dragged away but shot a glare back over her shoulder at Roderich, who was left standing bewildered wondering what the hell had just happened.

Further down the hall, Francis stuck his head out of another studio in response to all the commotion, his head turning to watch the two (one and a half?) women walk past, his eyes lingering on their backs and legs. It was only after they'd turned the corner out of sight that his gaze swiveled back to Roderich and he raised an eyebrow.

Roderich barely refrained from throwing his book at his head.

~*~

Francis was bored.

His literature class was set to start at four-thirty, but the class had learned that Professor Kirkland never showed up before four-forty. Four o'clock was tea time after all, and the poor man was so British you could probably chop him up and bake him into scones. Inedible ones.

Francis had taken it upon himself, the past few weeks, to make Professor Kirkland's life more interesting. The man was young for a professor, after all, just out of school himself. He needed to have more fun in life besides grading dissertations. Francis knew, in his own humble opinion, that he could spice up Professor Kirkland's life nicely. And if he went crazy in the process, well, that would be one last Briton in the world.

Currently he was sitting in his seat toward the side of the room, waiting for the professor to show up. The man was the most entertaining thing in Francis's life at the moment, besides teasing Gilbert. Gilbert gave as good as he got, though. Professor Kirkland just sputtered a lot.

He glanced at the clock, then smirked as Professor Kirkland walked in, shrugging out of that horribly _British_ tweed coat as he crossed toward his desk, already talking.

"Okay class, we're running short on time today, so if you'd all go ahead and take out your books..."

Francis kept the bored look on his face through sheer force of will, leaning down to rummage in his bag while discretely keeping an eye on the professor. This had better be worth it, he'd had to bribe the professor who had this room the hour before to cancel her class so that he'd be able to get to the desk without anyone else around.

Kirkland strode up onto the teacher's dais, tossing his coat over the back of his chair and thumping his beat up leather bag onto the top of the desk. He reached inside it to pull out his books then - Francis bit down on a grin - opened the desk drawer to retrieve some arbitrary office supply.

Kirkland shrieked, jumping back practically off the dais. After an instant his shocked look transformed into a scowl as he glared out at the class. Most of them were clearly clueless and confused, but it didn't matter. Francis couldn't hold it in anymore and he burst out into laughter, barely registering as Kirkland dismissed the rest of the class and the confused students trickled out, leaving Francis behind. He was laughing so hard he was practically sobbing, and every time he looked at Kirkland's scowling face, with those gigantic eyebrows knit together like one large woolly caterpillar he started off into fresh gales of laughter.

Seeing that his tormentor wasn't even trying to escape, Kirkland stormed back over to the desk to slam the drawer shut, then returned to glare down at Francis, hands practically twitching with the urge to throttle him. "_Snails_, Bonnefoy?"

Francis waved a finger in his face, wiping tears of mirth off his cheeks. "Escargot, mon ami. The very best in French dining!"

Kirkland grit his teeth, then slammed his hands down on Francis's desk, making him jump in startlement. "Look, Bonnefoy," he grit out, leaning close to the younger man. "I could _expel_ you for that, if I brought it to the attention of the dean. I don't care if you don't like me. I don't much care for you either. Fine. Drop my class, if that's the case. But there are other students here besides you, and _maybe_ they're taking this class because they want to. _Don't_ fuck with my class time again, got it?"

He shoved away from Francis, turning away to storm over and snatch up his coat and bag again, leaving a stunned Francis already plotting his next move.


	6. In Which Elizaveta Kicks Ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm still working on this fic, real life just keeps trying to eat me.

Gilbert slid his eyes as far to the left as he could, trying to catch a glimpse of Elizaveta. He'd been fascinated by her since she joined the judo club last year, not in the least because she had boobs and looked damn fine in a gi. And kicked _ass_.

Damnit, she was standing almost behind him in the line up. Ignoring club president Yao's disapproving look, Gilbert shifted, turning his head to look for her.

He yelped and jumped as a hand hit the back of his head, and he whipped around to glare. "What the fuck was that for, Vash?!"

The professor adviser for the judo club gave him a cool stare. "Pay attention and face forward."

"Yes, sensei," Gilbert couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. It was just _weird_ calling a broad-shouldered blond 'sensei'.

"Congratulations," Vash smirked. "You've just volunteered to spar with me."

"_Vash_!" Gilbert's eyes bugged. "Come on, man, that's not fair!"

"That's sensei to you," Vash smirked as the rest of the students backed up against the walls, whispering amongst themselves, leaving Gilbert alone in the center of the gym floor.

Gilbert scowled, but glanced over at where Elizaveta was standing with Mei and dropped into a ready stance. At least he'd have the chance to show off.

Two minutes later he was laying on his back on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling and trying to get the world back into focus.

Vash smirked down at him, and Yao scowled, crossing his arms. "Arrogance has no place here, Beilschmidt."

"Ow," Gilbert answered eloquently, sitting up. He glanced over at the girls again, despairing to see Elizaveta laughing at him. Seeing him looking, she walked over and crouched beside him, eyes glittering.

"That was a nice technique, Gilbert," she smiled, offering her hand to help him up.

_Holy shit, she knows my name!_ "Thanks," Gilbert paused, debating whether or not it would be unmanly to take her hand, then gave up and let her help him. Her grip was strong as she pulled him to his feet; he was pleasantly surprised. She glanced up at him when he didn't let go of her hand right away, and he gave her a charming grin. She laughed, cheeks turning slightly pink, and reclaimed her hand.

"But I think you still need to work on it," she continued, grin turning sly.

"What?" Gilbert gave her an incredulous look.

She grinned, stepping back from him and dropping into a ready stance. "Come on, try me."

Gilbert stared at her for a moment, hearing the rest of the club whispering behind his back again. Then his expression hardened. Damn if he was going to get his ass kicked in public twice in one day. "Bring it on, Lizzie!"

"Lizzie?!" She frowned at him, a muscle in her cheek twitching, then attacked.

"Beilschmidt never learns," Yao grumbled off to one side, watching them spar. "He has far too much pride."

"He seems to enjoy learning the forms," his cousin Kiku observed. "And he does have a good technique."

"But no where near the proper attitude," Yao sighed.

Their attention turned back to the spar as Elizaveta shrieked loudly. Gilbert had her in a nearly textbook perfect hold, smirking like a demon. The only deviation from the proper form was the fact that he had his hand on Elizaveta's breasts. Yao tensed and started to step forward to call a halt, but he didn't get the chance. Elizaveta's face had gone red in rage, and with a massive heave she managed to throw Gilbert forward over her shoulder to send him thudding onto the mat. As he sat up to roll to his feet, Elizaveta's fist connected with his skull.

~*~

"She fucking punched me!"

Francis and Antonio exchanged rather amused looks, and Antonio put another tick mark on the paper he was holding. That was the fifth time Gilbert had said that in the past two hours. He didn't even sound angry, more like he was in awe.

"Me! She punched _me_!" Another tick mark. "Not some sissy girl slap, that was a _manly_ punch!"

Francis hid a snicker. "I don't think she would take that as a compliment, Gil."

Gilbert sat up, moving the bag of ice off his face. Francis and Antonio winced at the spectacular black eye he was beginning to develop. "What?" he asked, seeing their expressions. "Does it look that bad?"

"I believe the term you want is 'massive shiner'," Francis said, attempting to be diplomatic.

Gilbert groaned, flopping back onto his bed. "I look like I got into a fight, don't I?"

"You did," Antonio chimed in helpfully. "With a girl."

"Who kicked your ass," Francis added, ignoring Gilbert's scowl. "I only wish I had been there to see it."

"Some friend you are," Gilbert muttered darkly.

Francis rolled his eyes. "Groping is not the way to win a lady, my friend. You must seduce her, ply her with fine wine..."

"You're not legal."

"I am in France," Francis said smoothly. "Really, Gilbert, you can't go around grabbing a lady's breasts and expect her to fall over at your feet." He paused thoughtfully. "Unless you happen to be squeezing _way_ too hard."

"All right then, smart ass," Gilbert scowled at him. "Why don't you do better? Twenty bucks says you can't get her to go on a date with you."

Francis looked entirely too pleased. "If you wish. I have a few classes with Elizaveta, she seems charming."

"Charming, he says," Gilbert clocked Francis over the head with his bag of ice. "Don't get too serious there, Romeo. She's still mine."

"Of course, of course," Francis smirked, smoothing his ruffled hair. "One day. I'll just show you how it's properly done."

"Fine." Gilbert grumbled, putting the ice on his face again. "I can't believe she _punched_ me..."

Antonio just rolled his eyes, deciding to stay out of this one as he added another tick to his notebook.


End file.
